


Clue Prompts Ficlet Collection

by Syllfael



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), House of Wax (2005), Laid to Rest (2009), The Collector Series (Movies), Wishmaster (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Predator/Prey, Smut, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllfael/pseuds/Syllfael
Summary: Slasher x reader requests from Tumblr (February 2020 Clue Ficlet Fest). Gender/body neutral unless stated otherwise.
Kudos: 17





	1. Freddy Krueger in the Hall with the Machete (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These requests were submitted as part of a game of Clue, where the rooms and weapons equate to something on a key (for example, patio = soulmate AU and rope = restraint). I'll link the key below, but keep in mind requests are currently closed.

[The Clue Key](https://stay-outta-my-blood-circle.tumblr.com/post/641874898334138368/its-ficlet-fest-time-3)

\-----

You hadn’t been trying to tease him, you’d just forgotten who you were talking to.

Now you’re careening down hallways and through doors, trying to escape from a man who permeates the very fabric of your current reality. He hasn’t caught you yet, but you’re pretty sure he’s just toying with you.

You blink, and your hallway has become an alleyway. You curse; if he’s changing things, it means he’s close enough to watch the effect it has on you.

You slow to a cautious walk, listening carefully for that tell-tale scraping of metal claws. There’s nowhere to go except forward or back, so you press on ahead.

It’s a fairly narrow alley, lit only by dim moonlight. The pavement beneath your feet is reflective with a thin layer of water, as if you’d just missed a rainstorm. You have no doubt it’ll be slippery when the time comes to run again.

You reach an intersection, finally, and peer down each side street. They look exactly the same as the path you’re currently on.

You keep moving, occasionally passing through more intersections - all identical. You don’t seem to be getting any closer to the end -

As you take your first step out of another cross-street, you stop dead, hair standing on end.

Had you just seen someone standing in that road?

You lean backward, turning quickly - but the alley is empty.

Damn him. He’s _definitely_ messing with you. You cross your arms and huff in exasperation.

“Enough already, Fred,” you shout, glancing around for any sign of him. You know he’s here, but he still doesn’t reveal himself. “I said _catch_ me if you can, not _creep me out_ if you can.”

One of these days, you’d learn not to poke the bear.

“I put on a show just for you, and _that’s_ what I get in return?” Complains a gravelly voice from somewhere at your back. You whip around, but you don’t see anything.

Suddenly, gravity abandons you - first you’re yelping as you float into the air, then you’re trying not to get nauseated as you start to spin wildly, and then -

You’re pinned, upside down, against the wall. Stuck like a bug to flypaper. You also realize - as cold metal grazes your knee - you’re no longer wearing your outfit from earlier that day. Instead, you’re wearing your pajamas, which leave little to the imagination.

You look down - up? - along the line of your body, and find him gazing down at you, gloved hand hovering over your leg, wearing a vulpine grin.

You open your mouth to fuss about the blood rushing to your head, only to bite back a squeak as one sharp blade makes firm contact with the outside of your knee, threatening to break skin.

“Now, now, be good,” he clicks his tongue at you gleefully, “It’s _my_ turn to have fun.”

You ignore the outrage that bubbles up at his words - _he’s been the one having fun this whole time_ \- in favor of pouring your concentration into holding still as the claw trails up your leg, curving toward the inside of your thigh and then higher still -

The world spins again, using him as an axis, and then you’re both right side up in an upside-down alleyway. You try to move; you’re still stuck to the wall. He closes what little distance had been between you, lifting your legs around his waist and pressing his chest to yours.

“I’m getting dizzy,” you breathe, trying to steady your vision. The surrealism of your surroundings isn’t helping.

“If you think _that’s_ impressive,” he purrs in your ear, then licks a stripe up your neck. “Wait til you see what’s _coming_ next.”


	2. Jesse & Asa in the Bedroom with a Baseball Bat (NSFW)

_**That’s a good little pet,**_ Jesse signs as he watches you sink down fully into Asa’s lap. _**Don’t you think?**_

Asa hums in your ear, tightening the arm encircling your waist.

“ _Very_ good,” he sighs, sending hot air wafting over your neck. The hand resting on your thigh flexes, pulling, encouraging you to move. “Are you jealous yet?”

You catch Jesse’s crooked grin out of the corner of your eye; you’re mostly preoccupied by the sight of yourself in the mirror across the room, watching as the image of you starts to move up and down at a leisurely pace.

 _ **Are you kidding? Of course.**_ Jesse crosses his arms, trailing his gaze along your form obscenely. _**I want my turn, hurry up.**_

Asa chuckles; you moan as he starts moving his hips in rhythm with yours, increasing the pace.

“You heard him, dearest - let’s not make the man wait,” he says, and you start to bounce in his lap, back arched, watching the way his hands rove your body in the mirror. You risk a glance up at your face to take in your hazy eyes, flushed cheekbones, and open-mouthed panting. You look away quickly, but between that view, Jesse’s intense stare, and the way Asa is playing you like an instrument, you’re on _fire_. Sharp cries fall from your lips in time with his hips meeting yours.

“Good pet, you’re doing so well for us,” he breathes, and then his teeth find your shoulder at the same time his hand finds your throat, squeezing, and both sensations are so sudden and so intense that you’re thrown over the edge, falling apart in his grasp. He follows immediately, keeping his hand and his mouth right where they are as he fills you up.

By the time he releases you, your legs are weak, your shoulder _aches_ , and you feel lightheaded.

“Well done,” Asa whispers in your ear as Jesse approaches the two of you.

_**That was some damn good entertainment, but it’s my turn to play now.** _

Asa gives you a quick peck on your cheek, then pushes you forward and into Jesse’s waiting arms. As he rises from the bed, Jesse catches him by the jaw and pulls him in for a deep kiss, which Asa obliges for once before settling into the chair in the corner.

“Be good for Jesse, sweetheart,” Asa instructs as the other man takes up his recently-vacated position behind you. Instead of pulling you into his lap, however, he tilts you forward onto your elbows and knees, immediately sliding inside you and starting up a fast, rough pace.

You watch in the mirror as your body rocks with his thrusts, wondering distantly why you’d ever be anything _but_ good, if _this_ was your reward.


	3. Vincent in the Conservatory with the Broadsword

You’d been clumsy in the kitchen before, but never with such disastrous results.

The knife clatters to the floor, flinging droplets of soapy water, as you stumble back from the sink, grabbing for a clean rag to staunch the flow of blood.

When Vincent emerges from downstairs, probably lured by your shout, he finds you at the end of a trail of blood, clutching your hand to your chest. He rushes over, and suddenly his fingers are everywhere - tugging at your waist, running down your arm, hovering over your injury, cupping your face.

“It’s okay, I’m fine - I think,” you try to reassure him. He tilts your head up so he can search your eyes, his gaze going from analytical to soft and affectionate in a flash. He brushes a thumb across your cheek, then points to your makeshift bandage.

 _ **Let’s see it,**_ he signs.

You start to pull the rag away, but quickly become too squeamish to complete the action. You resume applying pressure instead.

“Uh, I don’t know how bad it is, I’m afraid to look at it,” you take a deep, shaky breath, “it was bleeding a lot.”

He takes you gently by the elbow and leads you to the table, pulling two chairs out so you can face each other. He removes his mask, sets it aside carefully, and then leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

 _ **Just look at me,**_ he signs, and as soon as you meet his gaze, he takes your injured hand in his and begins to unwrap the small towel. You keep your eyes on his face, tracing the marred bridge of his nose, his lips, back up to his eye.

You feel him pull the towel away, then start to slowly prod at your hand, which throbs uncomfortably. Your other hand flies to his knee, squeezing to distract from the pain. He stops immediately, looks back up at you, and lays your hand back down on your leg.

**_That is quite a slice, but I think you’ll get away without stitches. The bleeding as stopped - try not to move it. I’ll go get bandaging supplies._ **

He jumps up and goes to grab the (extremely well-furnished) first aid kit. You risk a glance at your hand; the cut is fairly long and deep, across the meat of your palm at the base of your thumb. You’re sure it would start bleeding again if you moved much, but for now it doesn’t look terrible. You sigh in relief.

Vincent returns with the med kit and starts to dress your wound. You’re impressed at how professional it looks, and how gentle his touch is.

 _ **Feel okay?**_ He asks once he’s finished, still holding your hand in his. You nod.

“Yeah - it stings, still, but - ” you look up at him, “thank you, for being so calm, and for helping - I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, all by myself.”

A hint of a smile touches the corners of his mouth, and he lifts your hand to press a soft kiss to your palm, over your bandage.

_**I’ll stay with you, since you should avoid using that hand for a while.** _

Well, you’re not going to argue with _that_.


	4. The Djinn in the Conservatory with a Baseball Bat

He’d managed to catch a cold, and he was _not_ handling it well. He’s whining at you for the twelfth time today.

“Just think: you’ve been around for all these centuries, and never caught a cold before. It’s a new experience! You hardly _ever_ get those.”

The expression he gives you is somewhere between and glare and a pout.

“ _Millennia_. And if this is the price for novelty, I can do without,” he grumbles, rising from the couch and shuffling over in his robe, slippers, and habit-style blanket. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and then rests his head there, draping himself over you. He’s heavy. “Plenty of other ground-breaking and course-charting to be had with _you;_ easily more fun than _this_.”

You snort, trying to remain upright under his increasing weight as he leans harder.

“Thanks, glad to be considered favorable to illness,” you mutter, “go sit back down, you absolute lunatic.”

“Wish me better,” he groans pathetically, tightening his hold on you.

“No. Suffer,” you laugh, “or switch back to your other form if you really can’t stand it, you big baby.”

You suddenly feel about a ton lighter as he takes up his own weight again.

“ _Rude_. If it’s a question of endurance, I will succeed - ” he huffs, “and greater than any human, certainly.”

“Good, prove it,” you respond lightly, trying to focus on the soup you’re heating up (for _him_ , no less). He’s silent for a few moments.

“You could stand to be more sensitive to my plight, _mate_ ,” he finally grumbles, then lets loose the most forlorn sigh you’ve ever heard.

You turn around to face him. He really does look miserable, and you soften at the sight.

“Tell you what - go sit back down, and I’ll put the soup on low and come snuggle for a bit.”

He perks up at the offer, and returns to his handcrafted nest of blankets and pillows on the couch.

You follow after a moment, and he’s already so covered up and ensconced that you’re not sure how to join him. He reaches out from under a blanket and yanks you in, wrapping around you tightly. He sighs contentedly against the back of your neck.

“Much better. Good mate…” he says quietly, and the way he trails off makes you think he won’t be awake much longer. “Sweetheart… Dear one…”

The last thing he mutters, incredibly softly, is something in another language - his native one, you think - but it sounds just as fond. You smile, heart warm from the affection. Maybe getting sick every now and again is good for him… and _you_.


	5. The Djinn in the Dungeon with a Flamethrower (NSFW)

"See?" You say, before sticking your tongue out and rolling it into a tube. 

"That's not a talent," he scoffs, raising an eyebrow, "Or, if so - it's a pointless one."

"You're just grumpy because _you_ can't do it," you tease. He snorts, crosses his arms - then his expression shifts into the most devilish smile you've ever seen. The smirk falls off your face as you suddenly feel the urge to flee. 

He pounces before you can react, pushing you backward into the couch cushions and climbing on top of you. Your hands fly to his shoulders in an instinctive attempt to push him off, but he grabs your wrists in one hand and pins them to the armrest. 

"Wha - Nath -" you sputter, but then his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss. By the time he pulls away again, you're feeling a little breathless. 

"I can think of better uses for my tongue," he says, wickedly, before going to war with your clothing. 

Altogether too quickly, his face is buried between your legs and your fingers are threaded through his hair. You arch into his mouth and bite back a moan as he works you skillfully - he wasn't impressed by _your_ trick, so you refuse to feed his ego.

"Is - " you break off with a tremulous sigh, tugging on his chestnut curls as he hits a particularly good spot, "is that the best you can do?"

You feel him growl against your skin, grip tightening on your thighs. You fight not to squirm as he licks a long, firm stripe before closing his mouth over you and sucking intensely. You have to bite your lip to stay quiet. 

"Un- _underwhelming_ ," you gasp, and he _has_ to know you're just playing with him - you're not doing a very good job of acting unaffected - but apparently he doesn't care for it either way. 

He turns suddenly and sinks his teeth into your thigh - you yelp at the sudden pain - and then he's climbing back on top of you, but his nails are now claws and his skin has gone green and he's _bigger_ \- 

He's towering over you in his true form, scowling - tips of sharp teeth peek from behind his lips, eyes fiery and furious.

Your breath hitches as you stare up at him, blood running cold. You may have miscalculated.

He ruts against you, letting you feel how hard - and how _large_ \- he is, with the only thing between you being the fabric of his clothes - but then even that barrier is removed as he tears them off (he's going to regret that later, he liked those pants). 

He's growling ferally, manhandling you into position - he doesn't seem inclined to take it slow, which sets off alarm bells in your head; you know from experience how much of him there is to take in this form, and you'd prefer at least a _little_ comfort.

"Wait wait wait - " you plead, grabbing at him, trying to break through the animalistic haze you triggered unintentionally. He pauses, and you use the time to reach for your bag on the floor, rummaging around in it until you pull out a small bottle of lube. 

He snatches it away from you, then raises two fingers to his lips, chomping down once on the claws, breaking them off cleanly. He coats the digits in lube and wastes no time sliding them inside you - two at once is a lot, and the stretch burns, but not terribly. He shows no mercy, pumping them vigorously until he decides you're prepared enough (you're still not so sure). Then his length is hovering at your entrance again, for just a moment as he slicks it up, before pushing into you. 

His size is one thing, definitely, but it's not the _only_ thing. There's also the shape of him, the way his head is thick and bulbous, barely tapering enough to facilitate entry. Getting that past your entrance is always a trial, and even once you do, the texture of his shaft presents its own challenges - it's the same kind of pseudo-scaled as the rest of him, and, essentially, ribbed... bordering on _ridged_. It could be _amazing_ , but it could also be uncomfortable. 

Your nails bite into his biceps as he rocks forward. You're immensely glad for the lubrication; it's just this side of painful as it is. You pant, making desperate, mewling noises as he presses forward without any regard for them, until finally the head sinks into the wider part of your channel. Your relieved sigh morphs into a shriek as he sheaths himself the rest of the way in one rough thrust. 

Fully seated now, he lowers his chest to yours as you flutter and clench around him. Your mind feels hazy, focused only on the intensity of sensation between your legs.

"Anything else to say, dear heart?" He rumbles in your ear, claws pricking into your thighs. You try to respond, but the only sound to pass your lips is a whimper. "Mmm, good."

He must have decided you'd had enough time to adjust, because he starts moving, taking up a merciless pace. It's not exactly painful, but it's not comfortable either - still, he fills you up _beautifully_ considering his physiology wasn't designed for it, and you can't pretend you don't enjoy the occasional ravishing. 

The way he's dragging and pounding against your insides has you falling apart quickly; you climax with a loud cry, head flying back against the couch. He works you through it, pace slackening just barely - then stops, but only so he can grab your hips and flip you over without pulling out. You steady yourself against the armrest as he starts up his brutal pace all over again.

"Well? Still _underwhelming_?" He snarls, bathing the back of your neck in his hot breath. His teeth scrape across your skin threateningly. You shake your head weakly, still seeing stars. He chuckles. "Good. Now let's see how many of those pretty screams I can get out of you."


	6. Vincent in the Hall with the Machete (NSFW)

It was a game Bo liked, you knew; you'd wondered if Vincent would enjoy it too. It had been a little difficult to get him going - he loves you, doesn't feel the need to _hunt_ you, to treat you like a victim - but after you ran, hid, almost got caught only to escape again, his prey drive seemed to trigger and you were set.

You'd spent the next 30 minutes narrowly escaping him (he was _sneakier_ than you'd expected), until you'd ducked inside a vacant house to catch your breath, just for a moment. You hadn't seen or heard him recently, so you'd thought you could afford it - and then you hear the door creak open slowly, which, at least, was more warning than you usually received. 

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp and start to quietly move toward the other side of the house, hoping there'll be a back door. Sure enough, you find one, and grab the handle in relief - only for a larger hand to close over yours before you can turn it. You shriek and throw yourself backwards, breaking his hold. He lunges for you, misses as you dodge - you bolt back through the house, trying not to stumble over your own feet, and out the front door - you slam it behind you and hear him run into it with a shuddering thud.

You disappear down the nearest alleyway and sprint away from the house, trying to keep to the shadows and keep quiet. Eventually, you think you've lost him, and you slip into what looks like an old book shop for a rest. You sit on the floor behind the counter as your breathing slowly evens out. Your eyelids flutter closed, only to fly open again as the floor creaks on the other side of the counter. 

You bolt; hands close on you as you round the corner, gripping with enough force to bruise, throwing you against the wall. 

The impact stuns you, not that you would have had a chance anyway - he follows up immediately, pressing his chest against yours, scooping you up, hooking your knees over his hips. 

"Mmph, Vin - "

He rips the mask off his face, throws it across the room, and then his lips crash into yours, stealing away the breath you'd only just gotten back. As he continues to devour you, a breathless chuckle creeps up your throat - you _knew_ he'd like this. 

Your clothes end up strewn around the little shop as you fill its space with the sounds of your panting, your whimpers and moans, the rhythmic thumping of your body against the wall. His fingers dig into your thighs as he thrusts into you hard and fast; you've got one arm thrown across his shoulders as the other hand tangles in his hair, tugging a bit every time he hits that _perfect_ spot. A few books that were left behind when the shop closed have already tumbled to the floor from the shelf next to you. 

You climax explosively, and he does too about 30 seconds later. You lean your head back against the wall with a _thunk_ as you come down, panting and idly running your fingers through his hair. When you look him in the eye again, his gaze is foggy with afterglow, but he also looks a little shocked by the events that just transpired. The two of you had never been together like this outside of the house or the museum, and you'd never played a game like this either. 

"Good?" You ask, still a little breathless. He nods. You smirk, "wanna chase me back to the house?"

He nods again, eye bright with excitement.


	7. Jesse in the Dungeon with the Revolver (NSFW)

He'd been gone on "business" for the last few days, so once again you go to bed alone. You weren't expecting him back for a little while yet; when you wake up to the feeling of someone climbing on top of you, you're understandably startled.

You realize it's him by the time he rips the covers off of you, but that doesn't stop the panicked pounding of your heart - especially once you realize he's still in his "work" attire - mask, gloves, and _camera_ included.

"Jesse...?" You question softly. He doesn't respond, doesn't even seem to hear you, just continues his frenzy - gloved hands slide across your form, devouring you like they've been starving for the contact forever. He grips, squeezes, rips away clothing, and manhandles you easily until you're bare and flipped over onto your elbows and knees.

His palms trail over your back before he leans across it, the cold metal of his mask pressing against your neck, his shirt soft and warm against your skin. His hands slide slowly up your stomach, over your chest, and come to rest at your throat, where he squeezes for just a moment before retreating, retracing his path back over your body.

_He had a bad day_ is all you can think, _a frustrating day_. He's usually not so aloof, he usually doesn't come home like this - and, actually, he's _never_ put you in this particular position before. That thought makes you a little nervous, even more so than his demeanor does. You’re not sure what to expect - but it shouldn't be that much different from anything else, right? And honestly, it's _exciting_ too. You've thought about trying this with him.

You squirm a bit - not fighting, just trying to settle into a comfortable posture - and then gasp as cold steel presses against the soft skin under your jaw. Not his mask - something _sharp_ , you realize as you try to jerk away instinctively, only to feel it sink in its teeth.

"Jesse," you squeak as you feel the thin trickle of warmth spill over from the wound and trail down your throat. You're trembling with the effort to stay still (among other reasons). You receive no response other than the slow glide of the knife as it travels down your form, coming to rest at your abdomen, jagged tip poised to cut. 

Your heartbeat pounds a little harder as he grabs your wrists, pulling them into the grip of one hand and stretching them over your head, pinning them to the mattress. Your hips stay in place for fear of the blade as he lines himself up, and then he moves the knife for just a second in order to yank you backwards, spearing into you all at once.

You cry out - more from pain or pleasure, you're not sure. You're definitely feeling a decent amount of each, and the way they mix together is almost overwhelming. The blade is back, hovering over your hip bone, threatening you with spilled blood if you move outside of what he wants. You don't have a lot of time to dwell on that, though - he starts moving, rocking his hips, and the drag of his length inside you is blissful - he's so _deep_ -

You moan into the sheets, back arching as he starts building up speed rapidly, pace becoming rough and fast, knife held expertly to maintain pressure without slicing you up. You're sure you would be jerking back and forth across the bed uncontrollably if he didn't have such exquisite control of your body. 

You can tell he's close by the way he's breathing; you're getting there yourself, but he's definitely going to crumble before you do. As if sensing your thoughts, the hand at your hip tosses away the knife and slides around to stroke between your legs, moving at the same frantic pace as the rest of him.

Moments later, you feel him finish inside you, and you fall over the edge shortly thereafter. You both collapse, panting, his mask clunking lightly against the side of your head. After a few moments, you roll to face him (he lifts himself off of you just enough to let you).

"Better?"

He sighs, nods, turns off his camera and then removes his mask. He plants a soft kiss at your temple. He lifts a hand, traces a shape right below your collarbone - a question mark. You laugh breathlessly.

"I'm fine, and yes, I liked it. Might be my new favorite, actually. Can we do it again later?"

You feel his chest spasm in silent laughter.


	8. The Djinn in the Lounge with the Scissors (NSFW)

It's the middle of the night, you think, and you're not sure why you've woken up, until you feel him nuzzle into the back of your neck again. It tickles; you snicker a little bit, quietly, and squirm in his arms. They tighten around you as he presses himself flush against your back. His hips shift and you can feel how hard he is. 

_So **that's** his game..._

He doesn't seem to have the energy to do much more than lazily grind against you, though, so you snuggle into him and enjoy his attentions. 

He plants a sleepy kiss at the nape of your neck, then another, and then his teeth lightly graze your skin. You sigh as he bites down softly. His hands roam across your torso, your stomach, your hip, your thigh - then between them, just as you're starting to ache there. 

He strokes you slowly as his hips grind against yours; his mouth at your neck continues its assault with open-mouthed kisses and scraping teeth. 

He seems to be waking up slowly - his movements are becoming more eager. He gives a good, firm bite and groans low in his throat; you feel the rumble of it against your back. 

You're so _close_ \- you writhe in his embrace, and he grinds harder in response, panting, free hand still exploring your form as his lips and teeth continue their wicked work on your neck - 

He comes before you do, but not by much; his wandering touch doesn't relent as you both come down. He plants one more fervent kiss at your hairline before wrapping his arms around your middle and curling up with you pressed to his chest like a stuffed animal. 

"Nathaniel," you grumble, voice rough with sleep, and nudge him gently in the ribs. "We should clean up."

His response is somewhere between a growl and a whine as he snuggles you tighter. You nudge harder. Nothing. 

" _Gross_ ," you sigh in resignation.


	9. Thomas in the Kitchen with the Revolver (NSFW)

You'd been baking, and it's summer, and it's _Texas_ \- so yeah, maybe your shorts were a little skimpy, and maybe your tank top was a little revealing, but you also didn't want heat stroke, so you felt like your choices had been justified. 

He _froze_ when he saw you. Absolutely catatonic, for a full thirty seconds. When he finally approached at your beckoning, to get the glass of iced tea you'd called him up for, he moved hesitantly, watching you almost fearfully, sweating and blushing. He had _tried_ to behave, but he was so cute like that, and you couldn't resist a little teasing - it didn't take much before you found yourself pinned against the counter with large hands roaming across your mostly-exposed skin. 

He takes his mask off, you take your shirt off - he suddenly pauses, glancing around frantically. 

"Don't worry, no one's home," you grin wickedly, hooking his collar with one finger and pulling him in for a deep kiss. That's all the assurance he needs, apparently, because the rest of your clothing is gone in no time - he doesn't seem to want to stop looking at you long enough to get down to business, though. 

Still smiling, you direct him to lay down on the floor; he's apprehensive but does as you ask. You move to straddle him, sinking down slowly onto his impressive girth as he holds your hips and devours you with his eyes. 

"There," you breathe, basking in the way he fills you up, "this way you've got a good view. What do you think?"

Judging by the look on his face, you think he likes it quite a bit. 

You ramp up the pace slowly as you ride him, and his hands slide over every inch of skin he can reach until finally he's forced to hold on to your thighs for dear life; you think his eyes even roll back into his skull for a moment as he comes. You keep going until you follow him over the edge - he seems to enjoy watching _that_ most of all.


	10. Jesse in the Lounge with the Hunting Knife (NSFW)

You're already undressed before he thinks to check in. He pulls his hands away from your skin, where they'd been exploring greedily.

 **Still okay?** He signs.

" _Now_ you ask?" You laugh; he shrugs comically. "Yes, I'm _definitely_ okay."

Smiling, you lean up for a kiss, which turns into a series of them - you fall back to the mattress gradually, pulling him with you, until he settles in on top of you. His lips trail off down your jaw and over your neck and shoulder, then travel across your collarbone and down your chest. 

His attentions become less innocent here, as he licks a stripe over your nipple and then sucks it into his mouth. You arch, making a breathy noise, and clutch at his shoulder. He detaches with a wet sound and a lop-sided smirk. 

**Very reactive. I like it,** he teases - your face heats up at the lewd compliment - then moves back down to give the other one the same treatment. 

He plays with you, switching sides, until you're fighting back moans. You start feeling overwhelmed and can't help but push at his shoulders - he pops up suddenly, kneeling so he can use his hands. 

**Don't forget your safe word - in case you want me to stop,** he signs, causing your heart to beat faster instantly, and then he grabs your wrists in one hand and pulls them over your head. His mouth returns to yours, kissing you sweetly as his other hand trails down your form. 

It keeps going, and _going_ , and then his fingers are stroking you and you're gasping. He continues his slow, rhythmic ministrations until you start to squirm, and then he stops. You whine - it felt so _good_ , and you'd started getting _close_ \- but he just releases your arms, reaches over the side of the bed, and comes back up with a bottle of lube.

He leans back over you, newly-slicked hand returning to its place between your thighs and moving lower. He kisses you, a bit, as he starts to slowly slide a single digit inside you, but he ends up just watching your face as you experience the sensation. 

It's a little bit uncomfortable, but that fades quickly as he slowly rubs a particularly good spot. As soon as you start to pant and move your hips, he gently adds another finger - a burning stretch briefly eclipses your pleasure, only to settle into an _exponentially_ more delicious feeling. 

You're getting close again by the time he stops and pulls out. 

**Ready for me?** He signs, and your eyes are locked on his glistening fingers in a mixture of embarrassment and lust. You nod; it's all you can manage. 

He takes his time, more for your benefit than his, pushing in slowly as you adjust to him. As soon as he's fully seated, he releases a long, tremulous sigh. It's music to your ears. 

Before he starts to move, he leans down to kiss you sweetly. 

You'd been nervous, at first; he didn't seem like the gentle type, but you're pleasantly surprised. He hadn't even laughed when you'd told him how inexperienced you were. 

He rolls his hips, and it feels _amazing_. You moan, and he smirks. The sight makes your insides flutter.

You get the sense you'll be doing this a _lot_ from now on.


	11. Bo on the Patio with the Scissors

The look of your soulmate mark had always been frightening to you. It was clearly a hand wrapped around your wrist, and not in a friendly way. The adults used to exchange looks over it; your parents worried. _You_ worried. You felt cursed, just waiting for a terrible prophecy to come to fruition, like a modern-day Sleeping Beauty. What kind of person would it be, to grab you like that? Possessive, at best... _dangerous_ , at worst. 

Turns out, he's both, but you've never felt safer. True, your meeting had been a bit... rough, but when he'd seized your wrist ( _exactly_ in the right spot, not that you'd noticed immediately) and you'd clamped your hand down on his arm, reflexively, to pull him off you - and he'd _frozen_ \- since then, he'd been harmless... to _you_ , anyway.

Right now, he's dozing at your back, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. He'd only intended to hang out for a minute while you read, but you knew he'd drift off. You chuckle lightly, and he stirs. 

"Laughin' at me?" He mumbles, syllables sleepy and blurred. His voice is rough but quiet in your ear. 

"Never," you reach up to run your hand through his hair.

"Mmmmmm." He nuzzles into your neck, squeezing you tighter in his arms. He turns his head to kiss you softly (it tickles a bit, and you struggle not to squirm away from him), and then after a moment you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth. 

Experimentally, you yank on his hair a bit - he groans again and bites down, mostly gently, on the back of your neck. You can't help it this time - you gasp and squirm - his arms clamp around you like a vice, and you hear him chuckle low.

"Careful, darlin' - you're engagin' my prey drive," he smooches you again. "Don't make me chase ya, now."

You wiggle until you're able to turn and face him, pressing your lips to his in a deep kiss. His fingers find your wrist; he has a habit of laying his hand over your mark - lightly, tenderly, as if to wipe away the violence of the first time he did it. As if to remind himself that you're _his_. 

You wouldn't dream of saying otherwise.


End file.
